


only sun in the summer lasts

by arthur_pendragon



Series: Pornalot 2018 [5]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Arthur Pendragon Returns, Attempt at Humor, Desperate Arthur Pendragon, Faustian Bargain, Folklore, Freya Pranking Arthur Just Because, M/M, Mythology References, Post-Canon, Reunion Sex, Swan Maiden Lore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-12
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-08-22 13:45:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16599005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arthur_pendragon/pseuds/arthur_pendragon
Summary: “Are you sure, my boy?”Death’s voice, familiar to Merlin, has never been so soft.





	only sun in the summer lasts

**Author's Note:**

> this entry placed third in the final round... and i placed second overall... what is going on...

“Are you sure, my boy?”

Death’s voice, familiar to Merlin, has never been so soft. It’s frighteningly paternal, in a way that reminds Merlin of Gaius. Merlin takes a deep breath, heart hammering in his chest as if he’s the boy Death claims he is, about to lose his first kiss.

He’s a thousand years too old for that. C’mon, Merlin. Get on with it.

“Of course,” he answers, and sheds his ivory-feathered robe. The radiance of each pristine feather dims, but the glow of rare greed on Death’s inhuman face remains. Merlin slowly extends the mantle, fighting the agony that’s begun to roar within him, as if the robe is sentient and knows of its owner’s supreme sacrifice.

“Very well, Swan Prince,” says Death, closing its fingers — bones, joints, pebbly knuckles, all the horror Merlin has grown accustomed to in his many conversations with the spirit; he thinks the creature rather fancies the depictions mortals have woven of him — around the robe’s collar. “I wonder what he’ll say when he sees you.”

“Prolly call me an idiot for doing this, and tell me to shut up before I even open my mouth,” Merlin replies with a huff, a smile stubbornly curving his lips even as the fire raging within him makes fuel of his lifeblood. “He’ll have missed that a lot, I’m sure.” And Merlin will call him a dollophead and let loose all the mockery he’s had to hold in for a millennium, and everything will be fine. Just fine. Death’s not like the Old Religion, won’t cheat Merlin.

Hopefully.

Death laughs and drapes his own ragged night-black cloak over Merlin’s head, extinguishing his vision and his agony. Even as Merlin loses consciousness, he hopes he never sees the monster again. He thinks the monster hopes the same.

Good riddance.

* * *

The Once and Future Ass is anxiously slapping Merlin’s cheeks as he wakes (head in Arthur’s lap as if he’s some hero come back from an arduous quest — which means Arthur’s the blushing maiden who waited for him and wouldn’t that be a lovely thought if Arthur _weren’t still slapping him_ ). When their gazes lock, Merlin _swears_ there’s tears in the prat’s eyes. With chagrin, he notes that Arthur will never admit to it when teased in the future.

He opens his mouth to speak — _hello, long time no see, I missed you loads, was Freya nice to you_ — but Arthur puts paid to Merlin’s plans and kisses him.

Well, then.

“Why would you _do_ that, you idiot?” Arthur snarls, pulling back. Merlin opens his mouth once again, this time to tell him he’d predicted Arthur’s reaction, isn’t Arthur just the most transparent clotpole ever, but Arthur bends down and kisses him again, aiming for a good snog if the way his tongue’s licking into Merlin’s mouth is any indication. Repeated (half-hearted) attempts made by Merlin to separate himself from Arthur do not work, not for a long time, during which he learns the exact taste of Arthur’s mouth and also that desperation should _never_ again be allowed in his king’s heart. Except once in a while, when it’ll lead to some guaranteed, fantastic snogging.

“If you’d like to let me up so I can explain,” Merlin says loudly when Arthur draws away for air, rather breathless himself.

“No time,” Arthur answers, tumbling Merlin to the (grassy, earthy, good lord they’re at _the_ lake) ground and frantically ripping off their clothes. Merlin blinks and forgets all about explaining himself to Arthur as Arthur lies down and pulls Merlin on top of him, grasping his cock and tugging and _ah_ —

“Don’t leave me,” Arthur pants into Merlin’s ear fifteen minutes later, having switched positions to rut against Merlin, animalistic and sexy and — fuck, the sight of Arthur’s cock snug against Merlin’s —

“How long do we have left?” Merlin hears a while after that. Arthur is kissing all the undoubtedly-vivid love bites he left on Merlin’s neck and shoulder and chest and around his nipples, which are suckled sore and fuck, they hurt so good.

“One mortal lifetime,” Merlin says. He’s confident about his deal with Death — his immortality exchanged for Arthur’s life. Not a bad bargain, even if it means he’s lost his swan coat to someone—something which won’t even look dashing in it.

“What,” snaps Arthur. Merlin repeats himself. “I was told I have but an hour with you before I must go back to Avalon forever and leave you in the realm of the living.”

“Who told you that?” But Merlin is grinning; he thinks he knows. Arthur makes a face, but his next kiss is soft and sweet.

Somewhere the Lady of the Lake is doubled over, laughing.


End file.
